Yet the World Spins Gently On
by AriadneO
Summary: Mary discovers purpose and contentment managing the estate while the men experience both the savagery and beauty of warfare. Post s1 AU; will feature guest appearances by a variety of characters.  No s2 spoilers.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note_: I'm incredibly excited to present you with my first ever story offering. I've really enjoyed the writing process and I hope you derive some measure of enjoyment from reading as well. Since I've never done any creative writing in the past, I'm sure there is much room for improvement, so please feel free to leave suggestions.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to several people for their invaluable help with this story. To silverduck, who first encouraged me to write and tirelessly provided feedback about my plot. To OrangeShipper, who acted as my first beta reader and was unfailingly kind as she gently whipped this product into shape. To Lady Grantham, who provided a final polish and endless encouragement. And finally, to my sister, who graciously watched _Downton Abbey_ at my behest and served by turn as a history consultant, cheerleader and critic. Heartfelt thanks to each of you for your help.

_Disclaimer_: _Downton Abbey_ and its recognizable characters and plots are the product of ITV Network, its associates, and the writers, producers, and directors who created the show. I am merely playing in the sandbox.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_September 1939_

She knew the telegram contained ominous news the moment it arrived. She had prayed such a day would never come but now the inevitable was here. She crossed the room to sit next to her husband and took his free hand, waiting for him to confirm the news for her.

He read the two lines of text quickly and felt grateful for her sudden presence at his side. There was no need to prevaricate; she'd read the signs as well as he and they'd shared a joint, if unspoken, dread of this day.

"We are issuing an ultimatum to Germany. If no reply is received by Sunday at 11 in the morning, we- we shall be at war," he said simply, letting the bald words speak for themselves.

"Perhaps Germany will withdraw from Poland?" she asked, desperate for some hope to cling to, though she knew the answer as well as he.

"We must hope," he replied, but his tone said what his words would not.

She tried to sound flippant, but couldn't quite manage it. "So, despite our prayers, it seems our children shall be so fortunate as to experience war first hand. Perhaps our talented leaders will even manage to outdo the consequences of our last involvement. How many years and how many lives will it be this time?"

He had no answer to offer. The autumn afternoon, previously crisp but sunny, seemed to have lost its light and warmth. He reached for her to pull her closer, but she drew away to stand up and pace restlessly, emotions too discordant to accept any comfort, her fingers flying to twist her necklace in her familiar nervous gesture. He watched her agitated movements until she crossed the room again to stare out the window and he was struck with a fleeting, grainy memory of a parallel scene from another war, another life.

"Sometimes I think Kropp had the right of it," she murmured after a while.

"Who's Kropp?"

"The character, from _All Quiet on the Western Front_. He suggested we should just arm the ministers and generals with clubs and send them into a ring in their bathing-drawers to have it out amongst themselves. Much more fitting, don't you think?"

"You know Hitler's rise and the fascist beliefs he espouses are no laughing matter," he chided her gently.

"Neither is the thought of Chamberlain without his shirt on."

His lips twitched slightly, but he refused to give in to her frivolity. He knew the impudence was merely her attempt to cope with her feelings of helplessness and terror, but he did not want to make light of Britain's moral obligation to stand against fascism. "You shouldn't treat Germany's aggression so lightly," he said.

"But I should the lives of our sons and husbands?" She whirled to face him, eyes flashing. "Only men would ever play at war, unafraid to condemn thousands to their death with a single decision. No mother would ever willingly send her sons out to battle, but you men think nothing of our suffering because it's not yours to bear. What are a few more lives to throw away on the altar of one man's ambition?"

"That's hardly fair. Women are involved in the decisions too now."

"Oh yes, I forgot about our Queen Georgia and Prime Minister Nevina Chamberlain. Or were you thinking of Lady Clementine Attlee and Winifred Churchill?"

He came forward and gently took her hands. "You know that's not what I meant. Besides, these men are fathers, with sons they'll need to risk. And I served with Attlee in the Great War. I know he doesn't desire a repeat experience and I trust none of them take this decision lightly."

"Not all of them have children and not all at the right age," she countered, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Really, darling, you didn't at all approve of Chamberlain's policy of appeasement, so if anything, you should be pleased with his new hard stance."

"I only disapproved of appeasement because I thought he was taking too soft a line with Germany. I wanted him to address the issue promptly, not dither till he had to declare war." She sighed. "Why must our men go fight for one man's mistake?"

"Because we have a duty to God, King, and Country."

"How can you say that?" she asked incredulously, now lifting her face towards his. He was alarmed to find tearstains on her cheeks. "You aren't a naïve young man any more; you've lived through a war. You have the scars to remind you, at least, if your memory is going so fast. How can you still believe in that duty?"

In answer he drew her toward his chest, reaching up gently to stroke her hair. "You know I wish as much as you that it would never come to this."

"I know," she sighed, leaning into his embrace and feeling remorseful for taking her anger out on him so undeservedly. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be spending my frustration on you. But I'm just so-" her voice hitched, "so frightened for Robert. If he's anything like his father, he will want to enlist. And I prayed so fervently our daughters would never know the deprivations of war or that desperate fear for their loved ones. What will happen to our children?" Her voice faltered. "It's almost too much to bear."

He was troubled as much by her desolate tone as by her words. Even after all these years of marriage, it was rare when she allowed herself to display vulnerability or fear. He had so often drawn on her strength and her unwavering faith in his abilities; now it seemed his turn to return the favor.

"I am sure they will find a way through," he assured her with a confidence he didn't feel. "They are young, they are capable, they're blessed with your intelligence and charm and courage. We survived the last war; they can weather this one too."

"But so many never made it," she protested, unable to stop her fear from tumbling out of her mouth. "You remember what happened last time, especially to the aristocracy. One-fifth of our men never made it back. One-fifth! If they fight…" she left the words hanging, unable to complete that terrible thought. She felt a prickling behind her eyes again as she looked up at her husband. "And I nearly lost you."

"But you didn't," he pointed out gently. "I came home and we must have faith that Robert will too. There's nothing else we can do."

"No, there is nothing else we can do," she agreed.

"My love, this is terrible to say, I'd admit it to no one but you, but sometimes I can't find the heart to fully regret the war. I truly believe it brought us together. Perhaps we would have ended up together anyway, but…"

"…we probably wouldn't have otherwise. You're right, I am thankful for that." Her lips lifted into a self-deprecating smile. "Of course, I probably still don't deserve you, but luckily, we don't always get what we deserve and who am I to object?"

He made no answer except to capture her lips with his own, the two of them drawing comfort from each other and the knowledge that war, for them at least, had offered a gift amidst all the loss.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for having made it so far; I'd love to know what you think!_

_I once hoped to maintain decent historical accuracy, but we're not off to a great start since I've already fudged history in the prologue. (Ooops!) Details if anyone is interested..._

_I've read some surprisingly conflicting accounts about when the British ultimatum was actually delivered to Germany. By most accounts, it was sent two hours before the deadline of 11am on Sunday, September 3, 1939, though it could have been as early as the day prior, which is why I've purposely kept the timeframe vague in the story. I am assuming that the nation's top leadership knew they would be sending the ultimatum many hours before everything was "officially" decided and announced to the press. This would give them enough time to notify various individuals discretely, which is why the telegram arrives at least a day before September 3rd._

_The "women" are of course King George, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, Opposition Leader Lord Clement Attlee (who was actually sick and missed the excitement leading directly up to WWII, but that fact probably wasn't well known yet) and Winston Churchill (whom I threw in for fun)._

_The statistic mentioned of a 20% death rate is only accurate for graduates of Oxford, Cambridge, the elite boarding schools, and the aristocracy. It was closer to one-eighth or 12% for mobilized men overall._

_On that cheerful note, chapter 1 will bring us back twenty-five years and into the right era, before our characters have a proper inkling of what is to come. I hope you will join me there!_


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Huge, huge thanks to everyone who left a review for the prologue. As someone who is still new to writing fanfic, it really meant a great deal to receive so much positive encouragement._

_I hate to reward such kindness with a dull chapter, but I'm afraid that's just what I'm about to do with this chapter as I try to set the stage. But I promise there's fun in the future with inheritance issues, investments, and illicit affairs all to come!_

_Lots of thanks as always to my support team – OrangeShipper, Lady Grantham, Silverduck, and my sister – who are all much more talented than I am (and whose talent I'm hoping will rub off on me!)._

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1<span>**

_August 1914_

In the days following the announcement, recruitment posters had sprung up everywhere, like colorful mushrooms sprouting after a storm. Wherever one turned, in shops, at pubs, luckily not yet in church, placards trumpeted "_Your country needs YOU_"and "_Isn't this worth fighting for? Enlist now!_" Everywhere, the endless entreaty – enlist, enlist, enlist.

War fever ran high in the streets and it wasn't just because of the signs. A recruiting office had quickly opened in Ripon and each day the line outside grew longer, first just past the door, but now snaking around the building and down the street, past a bookshop, a haberdasher, a small tea shop, and still further onwards it went.

Matthew was on his way to the station after work, glancing at a poster on a lamppost displaying a train overflowing with soldiers and the seemingly inaccurate statement "_There's room for YOU, Enlist TODAY,"_ when a voice hailed him from the line.

"Benson," Matthew greeted walking over, having eventually located the source of voice. "Are you enlisting?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Crawley," Benson said. Emory Benson was one of the clerks at the law firm, a good natured and gangly youth who had been conspicuously absent from work that day. "Right exciting thing to do, don't you think?"

Matthew wasn't sure exciting was quite the word so he shrugged noncommittally. He took in the length of the line. "Have you been waiting here all day?"

"Oh no, Mr. Crawley," Benson said, all enthusiastic cheer, "we take it in turns to get breaks. I've just been done nipping in for tea when I saw you walk past."

"It still seems to be a rather long line," Matthew observed. "Will they get to all of you today?"

"Oh, well, I'm sure I don't know. I guess I'll come back tomorrow if they don't."

The man in front of Benson turned around. "Better be plannin' on that, lad, they've been bloody slow. Only way past that door is to know someone, register as a high-an'-mighty officer or 'ave the patience of a saint."

"Jolly good of so many men to come out, isn't it, Mr. Crawley?" Benson asked. He gestured at the youth behind him. "Dave here's just sixteen but he's got a right good plan to join up too."

Dave nodded. "Oh yeah, I tried yesterday but the sergeant tolds me to clear off till I was nineteen, so I see I'm'a turned nineteen today."

"Isn't that brilliant? Dave and I reckon with so many men, we'll finish off the Germans in no time. I've heard tell we'll be home by Christmas, but I bet it'll be even before then and it seems jolly unfair if the younger boys can't have their fun serving the King."

The man in front turned around again. "I ain't joinin' up to fight the Boche fer no love o' the King," he said derisively, spitting on the ground to emphasize his point. "Me, I'm jus' takin' any chance to get away from tha bloody nag of a woman o' mine. Be damn grateful to them Germans if'n they keep me out fer longer."

Benson looked shocked such cynicism could exist and felt compelled to compensate by redoubling his enthusiasm. "They've promised nice uniforms and good food to us. And right good jobs for when we get back." He paused and realized his words might be somewhat impolitic considering his audience. "I mean for Dave! I'm not complaining about my current work, Mr. Crawley, I would never, believe me."

Matthew smiled slightly. "Don't worry Benson, I understand what you mean."

"Oh, thank you sir, I knew you would, ever so well," Benson said in relief. "Say, are you going to join up as an officer?"

Every once in a while, even a fool must strike gold and for once Benson had hit upon the salient point. It was an issue Matthew had considered constantly in the past days, debating how best he could serve his country in its hour of need. Matthew looked over the line again, at all the disparate men setting out to perform their patriotic duty, whatever their avowed reason. A surge of resolve answered the question in the eyes of the law clerk. "I've been thinking about exactly that Benson, and you know, I rather think I will."

Benson beamed. "Oh, that's great, Mr. Crawley. They say the ladies all like an officer and you'd make a jolly good one, I reckon."

* * *

><p>It had been a week since the startling announcement at the garden party and there was an unaccustomed nervous energy around Downton Abbey. Even Mary, who rarely paid much notice to the servants' lives, observed their increased jumpiness. Anna had mentioned the gamekeeper and a few under-gardeners were enlisting and perhaps that was the cause of the unusual disquiet.<p>

Mary had expected Papa's announcement to ruin the mood of the garden party – and in truth she would have been relieved if it had ended prematurely – but if anything, the declaration had increased the excitement. No one wanted to miss a second of the momentous day and the guests stayed well into the evening, debating and gossiping, forgetting the cricket in favor of making ever more boisterous predictions. The general consensus was that Britain would show her might to put a few neighbors in their place and everything would be over in a matter of months. Mary endured a headache for hours before the last guest was ushered away and she could finally escape.

Once in her room, undressed for the night, she had allowed more tears to escape, giving in to the full force, uncontrolled sobbing that she allowed herself in front of no one, not even Carson. She thought she had finished crying hours earlier, but this bubbling font within gave lie to her belief. She felt an ache under her breastbone, a hollowness and a sense of loss, though if she were asked, she could not have explained quite what it was that she mourned. Even now, she was not certain she wished she had said yes to Matthew's proposal.

She loved him certainly; she no longer doubted that. She respected him, cared for him, valued him too. But marriage, that was so certain, so final, and though it ran contrary to all she had been taught, Mary was not sure she was ready for marriage.

Perhaps she could become reconciled to the state if she married well, someone she esteemed well enough and, more importantly, already in possession of a large estate and plenty of money. A house to manage, social events and country weekends to organize, a village to advise, all that perhaps would keep her suitably satisfied.

But absent that, was love enough for a marriage?

Her grandmother and aunt certainly didn't think so. And while her mother had not given a clear opinion, there was no denying her parents had married for a business transaction, however much they may care for each other now.

Of course, Granny and Aunt Rosamund would advise her to accept Matthew now that he was again confirmed as heir, to endure some years as the wife of a country solicitor for the eventual payoff of her family home and fortune. But if any good had come of her mother's pregnancy, it was that she had been forced to confront the possibility of years, if not a lifetime, as only the wife of a mere middle-class man. What would she find to occupy her while her husband was off to his job? Without the benefit of status and wealth, could she avoid feeling even more caged and dissatisfied?

How could she take such a momentous risk simply on the basis of love?

Then there was the Pamuk affair, which further complicated matters. Mary felt she owed Matthew the truth, but was at a loss how to tell him. Fear held her back too, not only that Matthew would never want to marry her after learning the truth, but also that he would never again view her in the same light. As long as she delayed her answer, she could delay revealing her shame and avoid the pain of seeing his disappointment in her character. But in the end, she had disappointed him anyway and now it was just too late.

She thought she most likely wept for the loss of the easy camaraderie and understanding that had developed between them. Matthew seemed to have come closer to understanding her – her true self, not just the cool exterior she presented to the world – than anyone in her family, and she had ruined it. She wondered despairingly whether she even understood herself.

But that night and those tears were all behind her. She had risen the next morning and resumed the rituals of her days and if she were quieter than usual, no one noticed it among the general dispiritedness of the family.

One benefit from the announcement of war, Mary reflected, was that her father had been too distracted to do more than express disappointment in passing over the outcome of Matthew's proposal. Then again, perhaps he was too English to discuss the matter with her anyway. And Mama, poor Mama, her spirits were still too depressed to bear much conversation. In fact, Mary had found a comfortable retreat in her mother's room, spending afternoons there reading while her mother embroidered or quietly stared out the window, two women united by their individual losses.

Despite this haven, it had been a trying period. After a week of unusually wet weather that had left her cooped inside with Lord Grantham's distracted air, Edith's sulks and Lady Rosamund's gleeful predictions of doom, Mary was ready to take advantage of the sun with some reading in the park. If it allowed her to miss Granny's expected visit and the sharp reproaches Violet would surely bring, that was just an added benefit.

Mary picked up _Othello_ from her chair and headed down to the library. Last week, the play's intrigues and betrayals had suited her mood, but today she felt ready for something more cheerful.

Knowing her father was out settling a border dispute, Mary walked boldly into the library. Distracted by thoughts of what novel to choose, it took her several moments to realize the room wasn't empty and, in fact, was occupied by her cousin.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed, suddenly self-conscious at this first meeting since he had announced his intention to depart. They had spent the garden party in an unspoken conspiracy to avoid crossing paths. "I did not know you were expected today."

Matthew had dropped _The Yorkshire Observer_ and risen when Mary entered. Now he found himself walking towards a window, propelled by the awkwardness between them. With his back towards her, it was somehow easier to reply.

"I wasn't expected, but I called by hoping to speak with your father. Carson mentioned he's out on business but was expected back soon and I thought I would wait for a while. I- I will call back," he said, though he made no move to leave.

Mary did not expect to feel such a pang at his inability to look at her, though her voice retained its usual cool politeness. "There's no need to leave on my account."

Matthew glanced over to give her a small nod and smile, though it really was more a mere twitch of his lips.

The silence stretched as Mary browsed blindly and Matthew inspected the side lawn as if his life depended upon a close familiarity with each blade of grass. Finally, Mary could stand it no more.

"When do you depart for Manchester? Surely it must be soon, as we have already deprived your friends there of your charming presence for far too long."

"Ah, well, that is in part what I came to discuss with your father. I am no longer planning to move."

"No? You seemed so certain when we last spoke," she said with a hint mockery.

"War has effected a change in my plans."

"War?" Mary haphazardly reshelved _Dairy Farming in the Highlands_, giving up all pretense of searching for a book, and came toward the window.

"I have resolved to answer Kitchener's call and enlist with the expeditionary forces," he informed her, turning around to gauge her reaction.

"You are enlisting?"

"I have a duty to my country."

"And you cannot carry it out as a solicitor?" she asked and this time he heard a hint of desperation in her voice. "I am certain the army would have use for someone trained in the law, other than as cannon fodder."

"To do what? Read contracts about so much meat or so much steel? Or better yet, prosecute terrified boys for the crime of being afraid to die, while I stay safe and warm at night?" His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but when she looked at him with those beseeching eyes and sounded like she cared, well, he needed to prevent his resolve from slipping.

"But surely…" she began, and then stopped, uncertain what she meant to say. _Surely you do not want to leave Downton, surely you are more important than they, surely my pleading could stop you?_ The question she most wanted to ask – _are you going because of me? _– she could not speak.

"I am decided," he told her, gently this time.

"So you are determined to walk away from Downton," she accused. "You have duties as the heir which I believe do not include recklessly risking your life on the battlefield, and yet you are determined to leave all this behind."

"I have duties to my country as well, a concept you seem unable to understand," he retorted. Matthew felt ashamed of his unkind words as soon as they passed his lips, but he could not call them back and he knew not what to say to rectify the situation.

Feeling slapped by his statement, Mary had to fight the mocking response that rose quickly to her lips. When at last she spoke again, her words surprised even her. "I suppose there's nothing more for me to say. I can only wish you well."

"Thank you," Matthew replied, surprised by Mary's quick capitulation. Not wanting to upset the tentative peace, he searched for a neutral topic. "I- I suppose you will remain at Downton?" It was an inane question, but preferable at least to silence.

"Of course. It is not as if I have any choice in the matter. As a woman, it seems I must simply wait and pray we do not lose another heir."

So much for their tentative peace. "And that is all I am to you? The heir, a source of security for the estate? It's no wonder you could not give me an answer!" Matthew had not intended to respond to her hit and certainly had not meant to allude to his failed proposal, but as usual when he was with her, nothing went according to plan. And yet, that was part of what so intrigued him.

"You don't know I would have said no," she returned, and the air between them was suddenly heated. "And you have no right to judge me! I am not the one making a rash decision, disguised under the cloak of duty and nobility. And you certainly don't know my reasoning or my considerations, but as usual you assume you know it all."

"What else is there to know? You made it amply clear you didn't love me. You were only considering my proposal out of your duty to your family and the estate. Really, I should be flattered you would even consider a middle-class solicitor."

"It's not so simple as you believe!"

"Not so simple? It is so simple! Can you deny giving consideration to my prospects when you were formulating your answer?"

"Yes! No! I don't know!"

"You don't know? That's all you've been saying from the beginning. Which is it, Mary?"

"I was afraid!" It was pure anger that tore free this humiliating confession.

"Afraid?" he said disbelievingly.

"Yes! You know where I come from and the life I lead. This is the only life I've ever known. Maybe I did give consideration to your prospects, but can you really fault me? I didn't know if I could be happy as the wife of a country solicitor, in a quiet little cottage with just a few servants. I'm selfish and I just don't know. I don't know. And I didn't want to be miserable and to make you miserable and to wear you down and destroy you with my misery. Marriage is so permanent and such a leap of faith and I'm not very good at leaps of faith. But it's not only that, I…"

"Yes?"

"I knew if I married, I would make my parents so happy and I didn't want to make them happy! I hate that if I married you, my life would suddenly be validated; I'd finally have done something right. I'd finally make up for the disappointment of my birth, for failing from the very beginning by not being a son. I hate that my marriage prospects are the only thing they care about. I wish they would value me, just for me, but I can never seem to make them proud!" She felt tears spring into her eyes at the end of this outburst, but she fought them back with the full force of her will. Matthew seemed the only person who could draw such truth from her and though he may have this glimpse of her weakness, she would not allow him to see the further humiliation of her tears.

"Oh Mary," Matthew said, taking a step towards her. "I'm sorry, I-" he stopped, uncertain how to continue, the revelations coming too rapidly for him to properly comprehend. He reached out to grasp her hand and would have spoken again, something, anything to not discomfit her with silence, but she held him off.

"There's more," Mary said quietly, looking down to avoid his eyes.

"Go on then," Matthew gently urged her, slightly alarmed by her sudden nervousness. She seemed to have quickly deflated following the fierce anger of the previous moment.

"It's not- I thought- that is, there is something you need to know," she said haltingly, refusing to meet Matthew's gaze and instead focusing on the hand that held hers. "I- I just don't know where to begin."

"Take your time," he told her, gripping her hand a little tighter in an attempt to reassure her.

She drew a deep breath. "It's about something that happened almost two years ago. Do you remember-"

"Carson told me you were waiting for me, Matthew," Lord Grantham's cheery voice rang across the room. He entrance had gone unnoticed by the young pair and now he regarded them curiously as they sprung apart at his greeting. "Ah, Mary. I do hope I'm not interrupting something?"

"Oh no, Papa," Mary said quickly, at once disappointed and relieved her confession had been interrupted. "I came down to look for a book and found Cousin Matthew in here."

She and Matthew exchanged a brief glance, silently agreeing to make no mention of what had passed.

"Lady Mary was kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting," Matthew added politely.

"And now that you're here, Papa, I should leave the two of you to business," Mary said. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Cousin Matthew." Mary snatched up the copy of _Othello_ she had discarded earlier and hurriedly left the room.

Lord Grantham watched her depart, sensing he was missing something significant, but baffled as to what it could be. He decided it was best not to inquire, so he turned back to Matthew. "You had a matter you wished to discuss?"

* * *

><p>His decision had gone over rather well, Matthew reflected that evening. In the two years he had been at the estate, Matthew had come to respect Lord Grantham. Though the Earl could never replace his father, Matthew enjoyed again having a fatherly figure guiding and mentoring him. As much as Matthew loved his mother, there were times when he needed a man's perspective and a viewpoint more nuanced than Isobel provided.<p>

Matthew had been slightly nervous when he approached his cousin to announce his decision to enlist. He didn't need Lord Grantham's permission, but he preferred not to disappoint the man and he didn't dare hope the Earl would happily accept his heir's decision to put himself in harm's way. To Matthew's surprise, his cousin had not only supported his decision fully – "defending our country is the greatest honor that can come to men in this world, or one of them at least," Lord Grantham had said – but also expressed his own intention to serve in some capacity. They ended up discussing the possibilities for several hours and Matthew came away with even more admiration for the lord.

But now, several hours removed from that first rush of shared purpose, Matthew began to consider the consequence of their plans. Though Lord Grantham would likely serve in a relatively safe, non-combat role, there were no guarantees in war. Should something happen to one or, heaven-forbid, both of them, the ladies would be the ones to suffer.

"How could I make sure our cousins are protected should something happen to Lord Grantham while I'm away?" he wondered aloud.

Isobel looked up sharply from the letter she was writing, in which she was confiding both her pride and apprehension for her son in light of his recent decision. Surprised by the subject, she asked, "What brings on this question, Matthew?"

He made her no answer.

Isobel regarded Matthew carefully. She wished her son would speak to her openly about his thoughts and concerns, as would the Matthew of old, but over the past year she had noticed a burgeoning distance between them as he grew closer to his Downton cousins, especially Lady Mary. She knew the day would come when she was no longer the primary woman in his life and, though she never wished him to suffer, a part of her was grateful he remained solely hers for a little longer.

"Do you have reason to worry about Lord Grantham's health or safety?" she tried again after a few moments of silence.

"I just want to make sure my intentions are clear," Matthew said.

Isobel was now confused. "I didn't know your intentions were ever unclear."

"Perhaps not, but you can never be too certain. What would happen to the estate should Lord Grantham and I both meet our demise in the war?"

"Don't say that, Matthew!" Isobel exclaimed. "It does you no good to think like that! You will both come back safely."

Matthew came over to drop a kiss on his mother's cheek by way of apology. "I'm sorry, Mother. I know you don't like to think of it, but it needs to be considered. Life can be rather unpredictable as you and I know only too well. I certainly intend to come back, but just in case I don't, I wouldn't want any of you to lose your home to an unscrupulous heir."

Isobel sighed. "So what are you considering?"

"To be honest, my head is still reeling from all the recent events and I hardly know," Matthew admitted.

Isobel, having recovered some of her equanimity, replied with her usual briskness. "Well, you know the only way to guarantee things is to secure the succession with a new generation. If you can't achieve that, just a marriage to one of the girls could add a bit of security and, in certain scenarios, buy them some time, but that's hardly an option right now."

"Oh, hardly," Matthew agreed as he sank back into contemplation, but his thoughts held less certainty than his words. If Lord Grantham died, Matthew reasoned, the family could remain comfortable enough as long as he was alive to inherit. If he went missing…well, that was hardly likely, was it?

The difficulties would arise if he also died or become severely injured, alive but unable to make decisions. His mother was right; in either situation, a wife would enjoy additional rights and could offer the family greater security or at least the luxury of more time.

Now that he had shared his intentions with Lord Grantham, Matthew planned to take himself to the recruiting office in the next few days. The army would probably expect him to report for training within a week.

_One week_, he mused, _plenty of time to arrange affairs._

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, what did you think? Should I patent this chapter as a new sleeping pill or is it safe to continue on? Any predictions about the fate of each of the men?_

_Lord Grantham's quote – "defending our country is the greatest honor that can come to men in this world, or one of them at least" – is borrowed with a slight tweak from an actual letter by Reverend George Reith to his son John Reith._

_**Next chapter**__: Violet is displeased with everyone, Cora thinks she's been compared to farm animals, and Matthew takes the next step…_


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello again, everyone! Contrary to all appearances, this story has not been abandoned. I'm sorry for the slow update; this chapter was actually drafted months ago, but my muse really disliked it and ran off, so I'm finally just posting it as is. If there is anyone still reading, I can assure you that I am determined to finish._

_Many, many thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, or voted for this story. You have all been far too kind, but please do know that your faith, support and lovely words have meant so much to me. This really is both a very talented and a very supportive fandom and I'm so grateful to be a part of it._

_Special thanks go out to OrangeShipper and frostyblossom for their awesome betaing skills and to silverduck and Lady Grantham for listening to me babble about the plot. And of course to all the lovely friends I've made through the Downton Forums! :)_

_This story was fully planned back in March, before most of the s2 spoilers, so it is very definitely AU. Some of the new s2 characters will be appearing, but in a different form. Also, some of our main characters (such as Mary) are still their post-s1 selves. _

_Without further ado…_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Lord Grantham wisely chose to delay his announcement until after dinner, when the family was gathered in the drawing room with the knives out of reach and the servants dismissed to their evening meal. With a drink at hand, he needed only to wait for a lull in the debate over Sybil's proposal that they form a knitting circle to support the war effort.

"We could gather together to knit scarves and socks for the soldiers," Sybil explained.

Edith was unimpressed. "Why would they want something knitted by you? Besides, none of us even know how to knit."

"Certainly not," Violet said, looking horrified at the very thought. "We embroider, we do not knit. No lady knows how to knit."

Edith glowed slightly at her grandmother's agreement, but Sybil was not yet defeated. "We could learn," she said. "I'm sure we could easily find someone to teach us. Why, Cousin Isobel knits!"

Violet smiled smugly. "That is my point precisely."

The awkward pause gave Robert his opportunity. "Speaking of our cousins, Matthew came to see me today. He had an important decision to share with me."

"Is he planning to remain at Downton?" Cora asked hopefully, with a quick glance at Mary.

"Not entirely. In light of our country's recent declaration of war, he is no longer planning to remove to Manchester. But," he added quickly, before the others could express their pleasure, "he has also decided to enlist in the army."

There was a moment of silence. All the ladies stared at him in surprise before the room erupted in a cacophony of exclamations.

Lord Grantham allowed the ladies a moment to express their dismay before he held up a hand for silence. "You should know he does so with my full support." Best to get that information out quickly.

"Of course you would support another noble fool," Rosamund, quick as always, said derisively.

"And I was just beginning to think the boy was sensible. He _would_ be so selfish as to go fight in a war," said Violet.

"His poor mother," Cora sighed, her thoughts having immediately gone to her own unborn son. "I wonder what she thinks of his plan."

"That woman probably supports his plan. Of course _she_ would never bother to consider the estate."

Sybil rose to their cousins' defense. "But we should support him! I think Matthew is very brave and Cousin Isobel has every right to be proud of him."

"Are you sure he's being brave? _I_ rather suspect he's simply trying to get away from someone here," Edith said, glancing at her older sister with no attempt at subtlety. "He must be pretty desperate if he's running off to war."

"Edith!" Cora exclaimed, appalled. When had her daughter become so spiteful?

"But she's right," Violet interjected. "Had Mary taken my advice, she would be able to prevent him going and we wouldn't have this crisis over the estate."

"That's enough," Lord Grantham said. He looked over at Mary to see how she bore the remarks, but her expression was blank, as if she had not heeded the conversation. He turned back to his mother with a challenging look. "Mama, I don't know why you are so concerned when you never wanted Matthew to inherit in the first place."

Violet stiffened at the slight rebuke contained in her son's words. "I may not share your joy that our family's title and property must go to a distant, middle-class relation, Robert," she ground out, "but better the devil we know than the devil we don't."

Robert shook his head, disappointed she still considered their cousins outsiders even after all this time. "I think what Matthew is doing is very noble. We all have a duty to fight for our country and as members of our station, we especially must take the lead." Glancing over at Cora, he steeled himself for the dismay his next words were sure to bring. "Actually, I too plan to offer my services, to serve in whatever capacity I may."

An even more appalled silence followed this pronouncement. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but Robert found himself rather amused that he had managed the seemingly impossible feat of rendering the women in his family speechless twice in one night, though seeing Rosamund and Violet were rapidly recovering their powers of speech though, he suddenly tired of the conversation.

He spoke to forestall their comments. "I am decided in this. Any comments you make will not change my mind. If we have no other subjects to discuss, I suggest we take an early night for I am sure we all have much to consider."

Cora still looked a bit dazed, but she was recovered enough to respond. "I think that's for the best, Robert. Sybil darling, would you please ring for Carson?"

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><p>The haunting melody drew her like a moth to the flame. Cora had been walking the halls restlessly for the past half hour, trying to find something to occupy her, to soothe her conflicted, tangled, jagged emotions before they overwhelmed the dam and flooded out in a display unbefitting a lady. And now the soft piano notes called her like a siren's song, guiding her to another melancholic soul. Rosamund was visiting her mother, Sybil was in Ripon buying yarn – the announcements of the previous evening having hardened her resolve – and Edith had been told to accompany Sybil, so that left only Mary to sit at the piano and express herself with music in a way she never could with words.<p>

Mary was in the drawing room, the sun glinting off her hair as her pale fingers gently stroked the keys, pouring her soul into her song. Cora leaned against the doorway and studied her daughter, marveling at how young Mary still was and how unprepared for the harsh realities of the coming war. For a moment Cora felt a fierce anger towards the Austrian archduke for getting himself assassinated and interrupting the calm rhythm of their lives.

As the last notes faded, Mary buried her face in her hands and Cora felt a new wave of sympathy towards her daughter. Mary was always so cool and composed, hesitant to show her heart even around her family. Perhaps it was time for a talk with her daughter, to listen to what was troubling her and to offer a mother's compassion and support.

"That was lovely, darling. I haven't heard you play in months," Cora began.

Mary spun around on the bench, startled by her mother's presence. "No," she agreed, "I suppose I haven't felt much interest in playing recently."

"You should play more, though perhaps something more cheerful than Satie," Cora suggested. She went to sit on a plush armchair and indicated for Mary to join her.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I only seem drawn to melancholic pieces these days," Mary admitted as she settled opposite.

Cora gave her a sad smile of sympathy. "We all seem to be rather despondent lately, with the uncertainty of this war hanging over our heads." She paused to see if Mary would take the opening, but her daughter merely looked at her, so she tried a more direct approach. "I'm glad to get you alone today. How are you feeling, my darling? You were so quiet last night during the announcement."

Mary lifted one shoulder in a lazy approximation of a shrug. "I suppose I am much the same as always. It's not as if my feelings have any bearing on matters anyway. It seems our fate as women, to sit at home and wait while men go off to fight in wars."

"Oh, Mary. You know this has always been the way of the world and it does you no good to resent it."

"But don't you find it the least bit absurd that men take the decisions and go off into the world and all the while we must quietly tend the hearth?"

"You don't have to simply wait quietly at home. You could help Sybil form her knitting circle or contribute to another charitable endeavor."

Mary scoffed. "And what would be the point? Charity is just another method to keep us conveniently occupied. Arranging flowers, choosing a guest list, selecting the menu, it's the usual list of insignificant tasks they delegate to us women, except now in the name of raising a small token for some romanticized cause."

"The causes aren't insignificant, Mary, and if you choose, you could become a force for good in the county." Seeing the wicked sparkle in her daughter's eyes and not interested in hearing whatever witticism it foretold, Cora changed the subject before Mary could reply. "I know you hate feeling confined, darling. Perhaps we've spent too much time at Downton these past few years. Would you like a trip to the continent once this war is over?"

Deprived of the opportunity for a caustic comment, Mary retreated to her usual state of superior indifference. "I'm not a child to be distracted with bonbons, Mama, and the situation isn't so dire that you need to banish me to the continent. Besides, it's not being confined I hate most." At her mother's disbelieving look, Mary added, "What really angers me is this sense that our opinions don't matter. Sometimes I think we are simply the property of our men, whether our father or our husband."

"I hardly consider myself your father's property, " Cora retorted, unable to stop herself. "And I would thank you not to compare me to his cows and horses."

"The comparison may be unflattering, but you can't deny we are equally trapped."

"Trapped? Whatever do you mean?"

"Women of our class are all confined to a waiting room and we're brought up to think marriage is our means of escape. But what better life awaits a wife? Wives are just stuck in the same dreary cycle of choosing clothes, paying calls, and doing the season, only now they must also serve as a prop for their husbands."

"Oh Mary," Cora sighed, "Marriage is not a trap. Just look at your parents. Your father has made me very happy all these years."

"_You_ might be happy because you married well and have a large house to run. But if you hadn't married Papa but some insignificant man with no estate instead, would you be so satisfied? Could you be happy in a small home with few servants and nothing to do and no social status? Could you be happy simply waiting for your husband to come home each day?"

Cora regarded her daughter in fond exasperation and wondered, not for the first time, how she and Robert had managed to produce such a cynical, contrary child. Hoping to lighten the atmosphere, she remarked with a small laugh, "Goodness, I never realized you had turned reformer like Sybil. Are you advocating for equality for women now as well?"

"There's no need to worry, I haven't. I admire Sybil's zeal for reform, but _I_ can't see the point. Women have appealed for equality for over a decade now and what have they to show for their efforts? Besides, suffrage would do little to improve things. The same shriveled old fools will remain in power, just now with the convenient gloss of women's votes to justify their high-handed ways."

"I think I won't tell your father that you called him a 'shriveled old fool,'" Cora said wryly. This conversation had derailed completely, she noted, to the point where she could no longer remember her purpose in speaking to her daughter.

"Well, he hardly qualifies anyway since he refuses to involve himself in politics." Mary stood up to pace restlessly, unable to contain her emotions. "All he ever cares about is Downton, Downton, Downton. Perhaps if he didn't have such a limited, provincial perspective, he wouldn't have objected to me receiving the estate."

"Mary!"

"But it's true! And then we wouldn't have had new cousins coming in to interfere and ruin everything!"

A long silence followed this pronouncement, Mary unable to speak from her horror at the feelings she had just revealed and Cora uncertain what to say.

"Well," Cora eventually ventured, "I think we finally arrive at the heart of the matter. All this talk of decisions and marriage and equality, it all leads back Matthew, does it not? You're afraid for him, aren't you?"

Mary seemed to wilt a bit at her mother's gentle observation. She turned away, unable to face the pity she expected. "I'm terrified," she confessed, her voice so soft, Cora had to lean forward to catch the words. "I wish our cousins had never arrived to complicate our lives."

Cora came up behind her daughter and laid a gentle hand on her arm, but the younger woman shrugged her off and walked away. "Mary…it's only natural to be afraid. I felt the same way when your father went off to fight in South Africa those many years ago," she admitted to her daughter's back.

They were both quiet a moment, Mary's harsh breathing the only sound in the room.

Cora approached her daughter again, and this time when she reached out, Mary flinched, but didn't pull away. "I understand, my darling. I've thanked God every day since the garden party that your father is too old to enlist again."

"But you are still afraid for Papa?" Mary asked, turning around to face her mother, desperation edging her voice as her hand came up to grasp Cora's tightly.

Cora sighed. "I am and I can't help it. As I've been reminded all too well recently, in life there are no certainties. But despite that, when you love someone, you must give them the freedom to go and do what they must." _And sometimes, even when you keep them close, you still fail to keep them safe_, she thought bitterly but did not say.

"Has Papa told you what he hopes to do for the army?"

"Not yet. He says whatever he does, he'll be safely behind our lines, but I can't shake images of him riding boldly into battle and getting injured."

Mary looked anguished. "But at least you know you did not drive Papa away," she said. "Granny is right, Matthew's going and the potential ruin for our family…it's all my fault."

"You must not think of the estate," Cora said, guiding her daughter to a nearby sofa and gently settling them down. "Even if the worst were to come to pass, we will all manage. Our settlements are generous enough for that at least. And you and Matthew still may reconcile."

A mixture of resignation and stubbornness played their way across Mary's face. "We won't. I've hurt him too deeply. Do you know, at the garden party, he told me he'd been living in a dream and it was time now to return to real life? Mama, the dream is over for both of us. All I can do now is pray he stays safe. I have no right to any more."

"Mary…you don't stop caring for someone simply because you want to. Heavens knows I tried with your father all those years ago. Matthew may be hurt and confused and angry, but it's never too late if you love him. Talk to him, darling."

"When? And about what? We spoke when he came yesterday and all we ended up doing was arguing. I just…can't, not anymore."

Cora reached for her embroidery, trailing her fingers over the delicate threads as she carefully weighed her next words. "Mary, my darling, I know we have all been pushing you towards Matthew. You think we do it for the estate, which I won't deny, but that is not all the reason. As a Countess, I hope you marry title and wealth; as a mother, I hope you marry for love." She looked up to capture Mary's eyes with her own, beseeching her daughter to believe her. "I know you doubt me, but to truly love someone is a gift, Mary, one you have never experienced and one I some days fear you never will."

Setting aside the embroidery, Cora reached out a hand to Mary, who took it silently. "Darling, I encouraged you towards Matthew because you were more honest and happy with him than you have ever been with anyone else. I don't know if you will ever love him fully, but you need to give him some hope and a reason to come back if you want to have that chance. You both need time, Mary, and you won't have it unless he thinks you care for him."

Mary opened her mouth, but Cora stopped her with a squeeze of her hand. "Think about it, my darling," she said gently and left her daughter to her thoughts.

That night, Mary dreamed about racing her horse across the fields at Downton with a golden-haired man who was not quite Matthew Crawley.

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><p>"Carson said you asked for me?" Sybil said in confusion three days later, coming into the hall where Matthew was standing.<p>

"I was hoping you would accompany me for a walk," Matthew replied.

Sybil eyed him, still perplexed, but agreed. "Certainly. Just give me a moment to add a hat." She turned and disappeared upstairs.

Shortly afterwards, the cousins found themselves strolling across the lush Downton lawn, chatting politely about the weather. Sybil wondered why Matthew had sought her out – surely he wasn't simply looking for exercise – but he seemed reluctant to bring up the subject, so she resigned herself to being patient.

"I presume your father has told you that I intend to join the army?" Matthew eventually asked, having finally run out of commentary about the temperature, wind, and rain.

"Yes, and I think you're terribly noble and brave," Sybil replied with sincere admiration.

"I'm not sure many share your opinion," Matthew said wryly. "Your sister Mary probably thinks I am a fool who has not considered the risks."

"Oh no, I'm sure Mary considers you no such thing!"

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. "No? Well, I suppose you know her better than I do."

There was a long pause and then Matthew visibly steeled himself before speaking again. "Has your father also mentioned his intentions?"

"Yes, he said he would also try to serve his country. Oh Matthew, I think it is wonderful you will both be involved. We must all do our part for the war effort."

"Yes, we must all do our part." Matthew stopped walking abruptly and turned to face her. "Sybil, will you marry me?"

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><p><em>AN: My sister told me it's bad form to end on a cliffhanger, but a girl's got to have some fun! But don't worry, next chapter is mostly written and there should only be one other cliffhanger in the whole story, so I'm not making a habit of this._

_Random historical fact: In 1914, only men 30 and under were allowed to enlist to fight for the UK in WWI. Sadly that age limit did not last for long._

_Next chapter: Sybil gives her answer, Matthew discusses entails (I love entails!) and Mary says goodbye…_


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